Tansy clapped her paws in appreciation of Arven's fine speech, and soon the other Redwallers joined in, heartened by his words.

Late that night when most other creatures were abed, Tansy presided over a meeting of the Abbey elders in Cavern Hole, a smaller, more comfortable venue. While they were gathering she took the opportunity to murmur to Craklyn, ' 'What price a swift kick in the bustle now, marm? I think Viola behaved magnificently tonight in Great Hall. There's a lot more to our Infirmary Sister than mostbeasts would think, d'you agree?"

The squirrel Recorder nodded vigorously. "Indeed there is, she can be a proper little firebrand when she wants. All right, Mother Abbess, I'll eat my words. I'd sooner shake her by the paw than kick her in the bustle!"

Deep into the small hours they sat debating the issue of the south wall, its possibilities and its perils. The meeting ended with Diggum's irrefutable mole logic.

"Hurr well, so be'L Us'n's caint do ennythin' 'til we foinds out wot maked ee wall go all of awobble. Oi'm thinkin' us'n's won't be able t'do that proper lest us gets a gudd noight's sleep."

Arven tossed and turned in his bed, the question of the wall troubling him greatly, until finally sleep took over and he settled down. In his dreams he was visited by Martin the Warrior, the guiding spirit of Redwall Abbey. Martin was the Warrior who had been instrumental in founding Redwall long ages before. The dust of countless seasons had blown over his grave, though his image was still fresh on the wall tapestry of Great Hall. It was often in times of trouble and crisis that he would appear in dreams to one or another Redwaller of his choosing, comforting and counseling them.

On this night, however, his words carried a warning to Ar- 49 ven. Looming through the mists of slumber the warriormouse strode, armored and carrying his legendary sword. Arven instinctively knew there would be a message for both him and the Abbey, and as he watched Martin draw near, a great sense of peace and well-being swept over him. He felt like some small creature folded within the security of a figure that was old, wise, compa.s.sionate, and above all, safe. The Warrior spoke: "Watch you ever the southlands, And beware when summertide falls, A price will be paid for these stones we hold dear, Though war must not touch our walls."

Arven had no recollection of his dream the next day.

11.

On the southeast coastline the mighty Rapscallion army crouched, saturated, cold, and hungry, amid the wreckage of their ships. Gray-black and bruised though it was, dawn proved a welcome sight for the dispirited vermin ma.s.ses. No-beast could have known that after they had burned their dwellings a storm would arrive in the night.

It came from the southeast, tearing across the seas with a vengeance, without warning. Battering torrents of rain sheeted down to drown the campfires 'round which the vermin were sleeping. Hailstones big as pigeon eggs were mixed with the deluge, while a gale-force wind drove the downpour sideways over the beach.

Shrieking and roaring, rats, ferrets, stoats, weasels, and foxes dashed about on the shingle, seeking shelter as the storm's intensity grew. Ships beached on the immediate tide line were seized upon by the mountainous seas and heaved out upon the waves, where they were smashed like eggsh.e.l.ls as they crashed into one another. Rigging and timbers, ratlines and gallery rails flew through the air, slaying several unfortunates who were running panicked on the sh.o.r.e.

50.

51 Only four vessels, beached high above the tide line, their hulls half buried by sand and shingle, were safe. Around the lee sides of these ships the Rapscallions fought their comrades savagely, endeavoring to find shelter. Damug Warfang and his *Rapmark officers, together with a chosen few, occupied the cabin s.p.a.ces, while the remainder fended for themselves out in the open.

By daylight the rain and hailstones had pa.s.sed, sweeping upward into the land, though the wind was still strong and wild. Damug crouched over a guttering fire in the cabin of his father's former ship, teeth chattering. Drawing his cloak tighter, he watched Lugworm heating a pannikin of grog over the meager flames.

"That looks ready as it'll ever be. Give it here!"

With his teeth rattling like castanets against the container, the Greatrat sipped gingerly at the scalding concoction. When he had drunk enough the Firstblade gave the remainder to Lugworm, who choked it down before Damug could change his mind. Peering through the broken timbers, Damug cast his eye over the low-spirited Rapscallions roaming the sh.o.r.e.

"We'll move right away, get inland where the weather's a touch milder. First grove o' woodland we find will do for a camp; fire, water, whatever food we can forage, then they'll be ready to gear up and march."

Lugworm fussed around his Chief, brushing dirt and splinters from Damug's cloak. "Aye, sir, they'll be fine then, fightin' fit fer a journey o'er to the west, ter pay that badger back for yore father."

Whack!

The Greatrat's mailed paw caught Lugworm alongside his jaw, sending him crashing into a shattered bunk. Damug was like a madbeast: flinging himself upon the hapless stoat he beat him unmercifully, punctuating each word with a blow or kick.

"Don't you ever mention that beast within my hearing again! We stay away from that cursed mountain! Aye, and that rose-eyed destroyer, that blood-crazed badger! That... That..." He grabbed Lugworm by the throat and shook him like a rag. "That... badger You even think about her again and I'll kill you stone dead!"

52 Damug Warfang hurled the half-conscious Lugworm from himself, slammed the door clean off its hinges, and strode quivering with rage out of the cabin. Grabbing a ferret called Skaup, he bellowed right into his face, "Get the drums rolling, and tell my Rapmarks to line up their companies. We march north. Now!"

Within a very short time the Rapscallion soldiers were formed up into columns five wide and marching away from the hostile coast.

Damug strode at the head of his army; on either side of him, six rats pounded their big drums. Ragged banners flapped wildly in the wind, their poles ornamented with the tails of dead foebeasts. The poles' tops were crowned with the skulls of enemies, and their long pennants bore the sign of Rapscallion, the two-edged sword.

Borumm the weasel and Vendace the fox were scouts, known by the t.i.tle Rapscour. They marched to the left flank of the main body with twoscore trained trackers each. Borumm glanced back at the receding sh.o.r.eline and the sea, saying, "Take yer last peep o* the briny, mate, this lot won't be goin' nowheres by water anymore. 'Is Lordship Damug don't like sailin'."

Vendace narrowed his eyes against the driving wind. "That's a fact, cully, an' I'll wager an acorn to an oak that 'e won't be 'eadin' over Salamandastron way neither. Taint only ships Damug's afeared of."

Borumm let his paw stray to the cutla.s.s at his side. "A proper Firstblade shouldn't be afeared o' nought. But we'll frighten 'im one dark night, eh, mate?"

Vendace grinned wolfishly at his companion. "Aye, when Vs least expectin' it, we'll find s.p.a.ce atwixt 'is ribs fer a couple o' sharp blades. Then we'll be the Firstblades."

Borumm closed his eyes longingly for a moment. "Hair, we'll turn this lot right 'round an' make fer the soft sunny south coast an' rule it like a pair o' kings."

Lugworm stumbled along behind the last column, clasping a damp strip of blanket to his bruised throat. Being a First-blade's counselor had its drawbacks. It would take him a day or two to get back into his Chief's favor, and meanwhile he 53 decided to stay as far away from Damug as possible.

Lousewort and Sneezewort marched just ahead of him, being in the back five of the last contingent. Lousewort caught sight of Lugworm and called back to him, "G'mornin', Luggv' wt sorta mood's the boss in t'day?"

Lugworm tried to speak, but could manage only a painful gurgle.

Sneezewort looked quizzically at Lousewort. "Wot did 'e say, mate?"

The stolid Lousewort shook his head. "Er, er, 'e jus' said 'Gloggte oggle ogg,' or sumthin', I dunno."

Sneezewort prodded his mate. " 'Gloggle oggle ogg,' eh? That's wot you'd a bin sayin' right now if'n you was totin' that stoopid big wheel along wid yer."

The big nasty-looking weasel's voice reached them from the rank marching in front. "Wot stoopid big wheel's that yer talkin' about?"

"Oh, the one I chucked awa-Wot wheel are ye talkin' about, comrade? I don't know nothin' about any wheel, d'you, matey?"

Lousewort nodded obliviously. "Oh yep, you remember, Sneezy, my nice big wheel wot you throwed away. Owow! Wot are ye kickin' me for, mate?"

All morning the wind continued to blow, right until midnoon, when a drizzle started. Damug Warfang rapped out commands to the drummers.

"Speed up that beat to double march, there's a woodland up ahead."

The two Rapscours and their scouts dashed ahead of the Rapscallions to reconnoiter the spot. It was a prime campsite, with a small pond containing fish, and lots of fat woodpigeons roosting in the trees. By late noon the army was completely sheltered from the weather: rocky ledges, heavy tree trunks, and overhead foliage sealed them off from cold, wind-driven rain. A feeling of well-being pervaded the camp, now they were in a fresh location. This was luxury, after an entire winter spent on the hostile and hungry southeast sh.o.r.e.

Borumm and Vendace were snugly settled in, having spread an old sail canvas over the low curving limb of a buckthorn, 54 with a rocky outcrop at their back. They sat cooking a quail over their campfire. Lugworm was with them, hiding behind a flap of the overhanging canvas, glancing nervously around at the pa.s.sing Rapscallions.

Borumm chuckled at the stoat's apprehensive manner. Shoving him playfully, he said, "Wot's the matter, matey? You ain't doin' no 'arm jus' sittin' 'ere sharin' a bird with two ole pals."

Lugworm averted his face as a Rapmark walked by. "What'd Damug say if'n somebeast told 'im I was sittin' 'ere talkin' wid you two?"

Vendace shrugged as he tended the roasting quail. "We won't tell 'im if you don't. Stop frettin' an' 'ave some o' this bird. AH you gotta do is tell us where ole Firstblade'H be sleepin' tonight an' how many guards'11 be around, an' any-thin' else y'think we should know. Leave the rest to us, matey."

Borumm whetted a curved dagger against the rock. "Aye, by tomorrer it shouldn't make any difference who saw yer talkin' to us. Damug won't be around to throttle yer again, 'e'll be searchin' for 'is daddy in Dark Forest!"

Sneezewort had a good fire going. He stirred the half-burned wood hopefully, watching Lousewort returning from the pond. He noticed that his companion looked very damp.

"Yore lookin' a bit soggy, mate. Didyer catch anythin'?" he called.

Lousewort slumped by the fire, waving away the cloud of steam rising from his ragged garments. "Er, er, I nearly did, but I got pushed inter the water."

Sneezewort picked up a small log and brandished it angrily. "Pushed in? Huh, show me the slab-sided blackguard wot pushed yer!"

"Er, er, it was that big nasty-lookin' weasel."

Sneezewort threw the log on the fire, sighing resignedly. "Ah well, that one's got 'is lumps comin' someday. So, you didn't bring any vittles back at all?"

Lousewort produced a pile of dripping pondweed. ' 'Er, er, only this. May'aps we can make soup out of it."

55 His companion turned up a lip in disgust. "Yurgh, dirty smelly stuff, chuck it away!"

Lousewort was about to carry out his friend's order when his paw was stayed. Sneezewort stared unhappily at the mess of dripping vegetation, shaking his head, and said, ' Take my ole helmet an' fill it wid water. Pondweed soup's better'n nothin' when yer belly thinks yore throat's cut!"

Damug belched loudly and settled back to suck upon the bones of the tench he had just devoured. From the shelter of an ash nearby he heard his t.i.tle whispered.

"Firstblade!"

The Greatrat lay still, lips hardly moving as he answered, "Gribble, is that you?"

From his hiding place, the rat Gribble called in a low voice, "Aye, 'tis me. Lugworm's gone over to Borumm an' Vendace. From wot I 'card they'll make their move tonight, Chief."

Damug Warfang smiled and closed his eyes. "Good work, Gribble. It always pays to have watchers watching watchers. I'll be ready. Go now, keep your eyes and ears open."

12.

Russa Nodrey added twigs to the fire embers, peering upward at statey skies that showed between treetops that morning. "Hmm, doesn't look too good out there t'day. No point in leaviiT camp awhile, those vermin'd probably ambush us afore we got out o' these trees."

Tammo looked up from the beaker of hot mint tea he was sipping. "Y'mean the rotten oF vermin are hiding in these woodlands? I thought you said they'd ambush us out on the flatland."

The wily squirrel pointed a paw at the sky. "So they would if it were fine weather, but put y'self in their place, mate. You wouldn't stand out in the open soakin' an' freezin', waitin' fer us to come out of a nice dry camp like this. No, if'n you'd any sense at all you'd get under cover, out of the weather. They're probably creepin' through the trees toward us right now."

The young hare dropped low, drawing his dirk. "Are you sure that's what the rascals are up to?"

Russa added more wood to the fire. "Sure as fiddle apples, if I know anythin' about vermin!"

56.

57 Tammo was amazed at his companion's calm manner. "Then what're you standin' there loadin' more bally wood on the fire for? Shouldn't we be doin' somethin' about the situation?"

Russa hid the haversack away beneath some bushes, then rummaged about in her back pouch. She tossed Tammo a sling and a bag of flat pebbles. "Here, I take it y'can use that."

Tammo loaded a pebble into the tough sinewy weapon, and swung it. "Rather! I was the best slingshot chucker at Camp Tussock!"

Russa twirled her hardwood stick expertly. "Right, here's what we'll do. I'll take to the trees an' pick 'em off as you draw 'em out. Use the sling, leave yore blade where 'tis unless they get too close, then don't fool about, use it fer keeps. Move now, I c'n hear 'em comin'-sounds like there's enough o' the sc.u.m, We'll have our work well cut out, mate."

Tammo heard a twig snap some distance away and heard a harsh cry.

"There's one of 'em, come on!"

He turned to answer Russa, but she was not there.

Suddenly a rat came leaping over the fallen beech at him. Tammo reacted swiftly. Swinging the loaded sling, he brought it cracking down between his a.s.sailant's eyes. The rat fell poleaxed by the force of the blow. For a second Tammo froze, almost paralyzed at the sight of the rat's broken body, half shocked, half exhilarated at this victory and escape. But there was no time to think. Instinctively he began whirling his sling. Leaping backward a few paces, he centered on a shadowy form in the shrubbery and let fly. He was rewarded by a sharp agonized cry as the slingstone smashed home. The young hare turned and ran a short distance. He was stopping to load up his sling when a sharp-clawed paw gripped the back of his neck.

"Haharr, gotcha!"

There was a heavy clunking noise, and the vermin collapsed limply. Russa leaned out of the foliage of an oak, directly over where Tammo stood. She waved the piece of hardwood at him.

"Best weapon a beast ever had, this 'un! Get goin', Tamm, there's more of 'em than I reckoned!"

The woodlands became alive with vermin war cries. An 58 arrow zipped past Tammo, grazing his ear before it quivered in the oakwood. Then they came pounding through the woodlands toward him, a score or more of snarling savages, brandishing an ugly and lethal array of weapons. Whipping a slingstone at them, Tammo took off at a run, only to find he was headed straight in the direction of another group.

Whichever way he wheeled there were vermin coming at him. Foliage rustled overhead, and Russa came sailing out of a tree to land beside him, her jaw set grimly.

"I never figgered on this many, mate. The villains've got us surrounded. Pity it had to happen yore first time out, Tamm. Still, there's one consolation-if'n we go together, I won't be left t'carry the news back to yore mum."

Tammo felt no fear, only rage. Drawing his blade, he gritted his teeth and swung the loaded sling like a flexible club. "Stand back t'back with me, pal. If we've got to go, then let's give 'em somethin' to jolly well remember us by. Eulal-iaaaaaaa!"

The vermin rushed them but were swiftly repulsed, such was the ferocity with which the two friends fought. Four rats went down from blade thrust, sling, and stick. Whirling to meet a second onslaught, following hard on the heels of the first, Russa stunned a weasel with the b.u.t.t of her stick, grabbing him close to her so that he took the spear thrust of a ferret behind him. Tammo whipped the loaded sling into the face of another and slashed out to the side with his dirk, catching a rat who was sneaking in on him.

A big, wicked-looking fox swung out with an immense pike. The heavy iron blade thudded flat down on Russa's head, stunning the squirrel and knocking her flat. Tammo tripped over a wounded rat and stumbled awkwardly. The vermin pack flung themselves on the pair. Tammo managed to slay one and wound another, then he went under, completely engulfed by weight of numbers. Stars and comets rattled about in his head as the b.u.t.t end of the fox's pike flattened him.

Waves of throbbing pain crashed through the young hare's skull. He struggled to lift his paws to his head but found he was unable to. Noise followed, lots of noise, then an agonizing pain across his shoulders. Opening his eyes slowly, Tammo 59 found himself facing Skulka. She was swinging the thorn-covered wild rose branch that she had just struck him with.

"Hah! I thought that'd waken 'im! Would yer like another taste o' this, me bold young warrior?"

Tammo's paws were tightly bound, but that did not stop him bulling forward and up, catching the ferret hard beneath her chin with a resounding headb.u.t.t. Her jaws cracked together like a window slamming as she fell backward.

A rat ran forward swinging a sword, shouting, "I'll finish *im!"

Russa had recovered sufficiently to kick out at the rat with her tightly lashed footpaws, and he was knocked sideways, striking his back sharply against a tree trunk.

Rubbing furiously at his spine, the rat came at Russa, sword held straight for her throat. "I'll show ye the color o' yer insides fer that, bushtail!"

He was stopped in his tracks by the big fox's pike handle. "No, y'won't, cully. I want some sport wid these two afore we put paid to 'em. Now then, young 'un, where'd yer 'ide that bagful o' vittles you two've bin totin' around?"

Tammo glanced down at the pikepoint p.r.i.c.king his chest. He smiled contemptuously at his tormentor, and said, "Actually I stuffed 'em down your ears while you were asleep last night, figurin' that owing to the lack of brains there'd be plenty o' room inside your thick head, old chap."

The fox quivered with anger but held his temper. "You've just cost yer comrade 'er tail, and when I've chopped it off I'm gonna ask yer again. We'll see 'ow smart yer mouth is then, bucko. Skulka, Gaduss, grab 'old o' that squirrel..."

Suddenly the fox stopped talking and stared dumbly at the javelin that appeared to be growing out of his middle. A bloodcurdling cry rang through the trees.

"Eulaliaaaaaa! Give 'em blood'n'vinegar!"

This was followed by a veritable rain of arrows, javelins, and slingstones. Taken by surprise, the vermin scattered. One or two who were a bit slow were cut down where they stood. From somewhere a drum began beating and the wild war cry resounded louder: " 'S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaa! Eulaliaaaaaa!"

The vermin had obviously heard the call before. Whimper- 6o

ing with tenor they fled, many of them falling to the rain of missiles pursuing the retreat.